


easy as life

by mattels



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Lesbian AU, Soulmate AU, biological women being biological women, jeremy bearimy babey, lots of fun historical events !, time is a bit all over the place, various other queens too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattels/pseuds/mattels
Summary: soulmate au where moles are where your soulmate kissed you in a past life (and trixie seems to have an awfully suspicious number of moles)
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	1. present day

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a tiktok i watched but can no longer find, so if you happen to see it, send it my way so i can link it !  
> title from elton john's aida
> 
> (i'd very much like to thank [ artificialpeach ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialpeach/pseuds/artificialpeach) without whom this fic would still be sitting in the notes section on my iphone, you're an absolute gem, thank you so much <3)

* * *

Katya lies heavy in Trixie's lap.

It's summer, achingly hot in their shared apartment, especially in the midst of a July heatwave. All the blankets have been thrown off their bed in an attempt to keep cool; the windows flung open and fan whirring loudly above their heads.

Trixie would usually banish Katya to the other side of the room in this heat, cringing at the feeling of skin-on-skin stickiness. When she had tried this morning, Katya had whined and stuck out her bottom lip, acting so much like a petulant child, Trixie had felt cruel trying to push away her bony limbs. 

That, coupled with the fact Katya decided to forgo a shirt and bra today. Trixie isn’t exactly complaining.

She’s lying flat on her stomach, chest and head resting on Trixie’s upper thighs, as she absentmindedly strokes her blonde hair. Katya’s hair is always a mess,  _ a bird’s nest, _ as Trixie teases some mornings, watching her trying to pull a hairbrush through it, as she sits on the sink, giggling a little. Katya always sticks out her tongue in response and blows a raspberry, all the while not relenting in her struggle with the brush.

It’s part of their routine, just how Katya smoking before Trixie wakes so she doesn’t have to watch is part of their routine. How Trixie gets to play Dolly Parton when she gets home after work, and Katya gets to play 80’s Russian pop in the mornings on weekends. How Trixie cooks dinner every other day and Katya always makes coffee in the morning. 

They just fit together; two pieces of a jigsaw.

“Kat,” Trixie murmurs. Katya cranes her neck to look up at her, lips pulling into a smile. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

Katya chuckles, wheezing a little as she drops her head. “Soulmates?”

“Yeah, y’know, like people who are cosmically bound or whatever.”

“Well, if you’re asking me if I think we’re soulmates, I’d say you’re as close as I think I’m gonna get to one. Who else d’ya think is gonna put up with my ass?” Katya says playfully, Trixie rolls her eyes. “But do I believe in the concept of soulmates? I mean… sure I think some people are meant to be with each other. But like, _ soulmates _ ?”

“Do you think  _ we’re _ meant to be together?” Trixie asks, carding a hand through Katya’s hair.

“Us? Trix, honey, I think we’re good together. I also think it’s way too hot to be asking such philosophical questions.” Katya pouts, “I have, like, three brain cells on a good day; they’re getting fried right now.”

Trixie laughs loudly, “I thought we shared them! I can’t believe you’re hogging them all, I demand custody, you wretch!”

“Ok but then when I ask if you want to see them,” Katya feigns annoyance, “you say no! If you want them, you gotta work harder, mama. Put in the hours, and then you can see them.”

“That’s not fair, you know I need them more! You always ask me the deepest shit at like two in the morning, like,  _ no, I don’t know why we’re here _ , Linda.”

Katya cocks an eyebrow. “Bitch, I’m not the one asking if we’re soulmates!”

Trixie laughs a little, “I can’t help it, the idea is just…” she pauses, for a second, “I don’t know, something about it just resonates with me.”

Katya rolls over, resting the base of her neck on Trixie’s thighs so she can look up at her without straining her neck. Katya has really beautiful eyes, especially when they catch the sunlight that streams in through the open windows. Grey, streaked with pale blues and greens, brightest when she lines them messily with black smudges. 

“What d’you like about it, Tracy?”

“I just-- I don’t know… I guess the Greek myth is interesting, like how we all were Aristophanes-” Katya sniggered a little “-shut up! You know I’m a slut for that sort of shit, that’s why I’m with your Bigfoot looking ass.” Katya laughs loudly, slapping her lightly on the leg in mock-protest.

“Anyways, we all had four legs and arms and then two faces-- holy shit I guess they must’ve fucked up real bad when they split you up, you two-faced bitch,” she says with a smile, all biting words but with no venom behind them. “But then Zeus thought we needed punishing, ‘cos I guess we were too powerful or whatever, and decided to split us in half so we’d be condemned to find our other halves on Earth.” Trixie says solemnly, looking down at Katya’s giggling face.

“You cannot seriously believe that! No fuckin’ way, Barbara.”

“Bitch! You fully believed chocolate milk came from brown cows until like two years ago!”

“Okay and that’s the American education system’s problem, and not mine!” Katya grins, showing Trixie all of her perfect white teeth. They sit together in comfortable silence for a bit longer, listening to the constant white noise of the fan above them and the bustle of the city beneath.

When she was a kid, Trixie always thought she’d live in LA, along the Malibu coast, sipping champagne every Friday with Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan. As she got older, the dream started to fade, and the reality of her and her family’s situation started to become more apparent. They weren’t poor by any means-- Trixie never had to share a room with her siblings, and they always had enough to eat-- but Milwaukee money wasn’t LA money.

Trixie wasn’t the smartest, either. She just learned how to market herself, and play up to her strengths. After high school she got a scholarship to NYU for fashion design, where she met Katya, who was majoring in graphic design. They clicked immediately-- it was as if they’d known each other forever. 

Now, they shared their shitty East Village apartment. Sure, it wasn’t Trixie’s Malibu Barbie fantasy, but it was better for work, and Katya would’ve hated LA anyways.

“Trix,” Katya mumbles, wide eyes peering up at her. “Do you think we’re Aristroplanes or whatever?”

Trixie holds back a laugh, “Aristophanes, you idiot, what the fuck is an  _ Aristroplane _ ?” Katya scrunches her nose, rolling her eyes.

Trixie looks at her for a minute. Katya looks soft, head in Trixie’s lap, face void of makeup. Blonde eyelashes and the faintest dotting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, cheekbones less sharp without hastily applied bronzer. Trixie thinks she loves Katya most when she’s like this. 

She squirms a little in Trixie’s lap, rolling over again to rest her chin on her thigh like a dog begging to be scratched. Trixie’s fingers reach out and automatically begin to trace over the splattering of moles adorning Katya’s back, trying to join them up like she’s mapping constellations across her spine. __

_ Casseopia here, Dipper there. _

“Y’know some people think moles are linked to soulmates and past lives,” Katya says absent-mindedly, arching her back up into Trixie’s touch. “Like how if you have a weird birthmark it’s how you died in a past life.”

“So what does that birthmark on your foot indicate then, huh?”

“Tetanus.  _ Obviously _ , Tracy.” She says with no hesitation. Trixie barks out a laugh. “Oh, so you think it’s fuckin’ funny I couldn’t afford a shot in my past life, you’re a disgusting excuse for a human, I can’t believe you’d discriminate against me and my poverty!”

“ _ I’m _ disgusting? Honey, I’m not the one who died of tetanus!”

Katya wheezes, dropping her face against Trixie’s leg. “What did you die of, little miss perfect?”

Trixie thinks for a second. She has a tiny birthmark on the back of her neck-- barely visible unless her hair is in a bun. “I guess I was guillotined.”

“Aw! How very… Marie Antoinette of you,” Katya smirks, “Nicky would be so proud, that French bitch.  _ Ah, Trixie _ ,” she says in a thick French accent, rolling the sound of the  _ x _ a little in the back of her throat, “ _ let zem eat cake, oui? _ ”

Trixie screams, “you cunt! Let me live my French fantasy!”

“So let me live my tetanus fantasy free of judgement! Anyways, what I was trying to say before I was  _ so rudely interrupted _ -” she reaches up to poke Trixie’s waist “-is that a lot of people think your moles and birthmarks, are a link to your past life.” 

She nods, indicating for Katya to continue. “Like, I saw this tweet where someone was saying that moles are where your soulmates kissed you in a past life.” Trixie smiles, looking down at the moles on Katya’s back. “And, you, miss Trixabella, you have a suspicious amount of moles.”

Trixie smiles wider, “as do you, dummy!”

“I guess we were both well loved.” Trixie hums in agreement, stroking her shoulders softly. “Do you think we’re soulmates, Trix?”

“I think…” Katya looks up at her, “well, I found you in this lifetime. I’m sure I’ll find you in the next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading the very first chapter/prologue !! when u guys leave comments and kudos and bookmarks it makes my entire day (read: year) <3 this is the first series i've written in a Really long time, so constructive (and regular) criticism is very much welcome !
> 
> come chat to me on tumblr @ mattelography ! 
> 
> stay safe lovelies xx


	2. nineteen fifty-nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl smiles, “that’s cute. I’m Katya.” She extends a hand for Trixie to shake, who takes it and shakes slightly too firmly.
> 
> Katya. The name sounds oddly familiar, almost like a dream, if she thinks too hard about it, she knows it’ll slip away from her, like sand between fingers.
> 
> “Thanks,” Trixie says, “for, uh, helping me out, I guess.”
> 
> Katya shrugs, “don’t mention it, Tracy, can’t be letting new girls get lost, especially when they’re as pretty as you. I mean, what sort of student do you peg me for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u guys so much for all your wonderful comments on the last chapter! sorry this one is so late but i'm gonna try to post chapters every week (i hope lol)
> 
> tw: this chapter has lots of internalised homophobia (it's the 50's babey!) 
> 
> (i also wanna thank [ artificialpeach ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialpeach/pseuds/artificialpeach) cos she's been nothing but a babe and supporting me n my monkey brain)

* * *

The year is 1959, and Trixie Mattel wants to die.

Okay, so maybe she isn’t quite ready to hang herself in her closet, but she’s seriously considering pretending that she’s suddenly come down with a case of polio. Her mother isn’t believing it, but she’s still valiantly trying, batting her big blue eyes and whining that she doesn’t feel well.

“Trix, honey, it’s your first day,” her mother says, continuing to make sandwiches for her and her sisters, “you can’t seriously be trying to miss it.”

“Mom, I’m not going.” Trixie slumps her shoulders, willing tears to come to her eyes so she could really sell it. “I _told_ you, I’m sick. I can’t go.”

“And I told _you_ , you’re going. That’s final.” She looks up at Trixie, “stop with the tears, I know they’re not real, you’ve been pulling that trick on me since you first started trying to weasel your way out of things.” Trixie opens her mouth to speak, but her mother continues on. “Besides, it’s your first day here, people will think it’s weird--”

“--People will already think it’s weird I’m joining halfway into the first semester--”

“--People will think it’s weird _er_ if you miss the first day.” She starts putting the sandwiches into paper bags, “it’s a new school in a new place; a whole new chance for you!”

“There was nothing wrong with my old school!” Trixie lies. Her old school had a metal detector and locker checks every two weeks.

“Your father and I--”

“--He’s not my dad--”

“--Your father and I decided this will be good for you, sweetie; change is good. Grab your things, you’ll be late if you don’t leave soon.”

Trixie just rolls her eyes, sulking back up to her room to pick up her satchel. She looks at herself once over in the mirror: her skirt today is pleated and pink, hitting her upper calves, and cinched in at the waist with a thick white belt. A pale pink sweater covers her up to her collarbones, a white collar folded over the top of the neckline. 

Her eyeliner is as thick as ever, blonde hair neatly curled with rollers the night before, and tucked behind her ears with a white headband. Everything is so carefully and perfectly in place, but she still doesn’t feel right; her skin looks a little too pink against her outfit, her hips a little too wide and boobs a little too big. 

Her friends in Wisconsin used to tease her when she wore this outfit, calling her a strawberry, but always with a grin on their faces.

She’s not going to have that today. She won’t have Farrah holding onto her arm today either, won’t have her slender arms slipping around Trixie’s waist, and kissing her on the cheek, _‘cos that’s what they do in France, Trix!_

It’s probably for the better, Trixie thinks, slinging her leather satchel over one shoulder. Farrah made her feel special, _different_ , like she was the only girl in the world that could make her face light up, and her eyes sparkle when she giggled. 

It was weird, Trixie had felt happier around Farrah than any of the boys that had tried to slip their hands up her skirt. She never told anyone, but sometimes she felt better with her than with her (now ex) boyfriend.

It’s not like Trixie ever had feelings for her, she’s not stupid, she knows what people say about same-sex couples-- what the _Bible_ says about them. No, her and Farrah were just friends. _Best_ friends.

She brushes thoughts of Farrah to the side, picking up a book on her nightstand and shoving it into the bag. 

“Trixie!” Her little sister yells up the stairs, “I’m gonna be late, let’s go!”

“Jesus Christ,” Trixie mutters under her breath. “Coming Blair, calm down!” 

She walks down the stairs, Blair standing at the bottom of them, skinny arms crossed in front of her chest and face pulled into a scowl.

Blair is undeniably beautiful, perfect fair skin and chestnut hair, big pale eyes with long dark lashes. Some of the boys in Trixie’s grade used to ask her if she wanted rides in their shiny cars, which, _gross_ , quite frankly-- Blair was only a freshman then, and newly a sophomore now, she didn’t need some acne-faced creeps trying to chat her up.

Trixie grabs her lunch, stuffing it into her bag as her and Blair leave together in silence. They don’t talk on the walk to school, Blair staring at the passing cars moodily-- Boston is a lot busier than Wisconsin, even when they’re nowhere near the city.

It’s not a long walk; soon enough they’re walking through the gates, _Visage School For Girls_ , written on the front of the large building in red and white. Blair seems to immediately be enveloped into a group of girls, giggling and asking her where she got her dress from. _Great_ , Trixie seethes a little, irritated at how her sister seems to find friends so easily.

She stands around awkwardly, watching the girls around her. They all seem to be well-dressed, outfits coordinated and conservative. Trixie suddenly feels a little silly in her pink get-up, acutely aware of how much she resembles a pig-- wide hips and a less-than-flat stomach, with her naturally pink cheeks turned rosy in the September air.

“Hey!” A hand taps Trixie on the shoulder and she spins around. A girl stands there smiling at her, her almost-black hair is in a long ponytail and she extends a hand out. “Are you new? I’m Dela,” her voice is bright and peppy. _Cheerleader on crack, Barbara._

“Yeah.” Trixie shakes her hand gently, “I’m Trixie. I’m a senior-- do you know where I’m supposed to go and pick my stuff up?”

Dela smiles, “yeah, it’ll be in administration. If you go in, up the steps at front-” she points to stairs leading into the school “-and turn left, it’s right there. I can come with you if you want?”

Trixie shakes her head, “that’s okay, I’m sure I’ll find it, thanks.” It’s much too early to have to make conversation with girls who have _that_ much energy.

She follows her directions, swerving around gaggles of girls chatting with each other around the stairs. The school itself seems fairly empty, most of the students opting to stay outside in the cool air before the bell rings. Dela’s directions are perfect, Trixie doesn’t struggle to find the glass room-- not that she could, it’s huge, and the walls have decals with directions on them.

“Hi,” she says awkwardly to the woman behind the desk when she walks in. “I’m new, Beatrice Mattel?” She hesitates a little when she gives out her legal name. “Could I get my schedule and stuff please?” She nods, flicking through a filing cabinet, pulling out a file and passing Trixie a piece of paper.

“This is your schedule, all the teachers and the room numbers are listed,” she points them out to her. She then rifles through the file again, pulling out another piece of paper, “and this,” she passes it to Trixie, “is your locker number and combination.”

Trixie nods, “thank you so much!”

“No problem honey, have a good day!” She turns back to whatever she was doing before Trixie came, putting the file back into its spot in the cabinet.

Trixie leaves the room, looking around at the surrounding lockers for an indication of where she is, breathing out a prayer that she won’t have to go far to find her own. 404, 405, 406-- not Trixie’s 813. God really is cruel, huh?

A blonde girl passes her and stops, turning on her heels. “You look particularly distressed.” 

She is easily one of the prettiest girls Trixie’s ever seen, even with her messy eyeliner and fading red lipstick. Her hair is long and wavy, pulled back in a messy ponytail with her bangs sticking up a little. She’s smiling, her teeth all pearly-white, and her nose crinkles a little. 

Trixie huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes, “you don’t know where this locker is, do you?” She shows the girl her paper, who nods.

The girl starts walking, motioning to Trixie to follow her, “you new?” Although she’s a good couple of inches shorter than her, Trixie has to scramble a little to keep up with her quick strides.

“Yeah, I just transferred.”

“From?”

“Milwaukee? In Wisconsin?”

The girl whistles low, raising an eyebrow at Trixie, “Wisconsin huh? That’s cute. So, uh, was your first kiss with your brother, or…?”

Trixie lets out a shriek, “I will have you know my first kiss was with my cousin. But my virginity, honey? That’s a different story.”

The girl screams, latching onto Trixie’s bicep with icy fingers. Her hands are a little clammy, but her grip is surprisingly strong, sending a tiny shiver up her spine. “I like this outfit,” she strokes Trixie’s cashmere bicep gently, and Trixie’s heart skips a beat. “You look like a stick of cotton candy.”

Trixie blushes high in her cheekbones, the tips of her ears burning red. The girl either doesn’t notice, or is tactful enough not to mention it.

“813 right?” They stop at a section of lockers stuck between two classrooms. She nods and the girl smiles at her, walking three lockers down from Trixie’s, “I’m 816, so I guess I’ll be seeing you around, uh…. sorry, I didn’t think I caught your name, sweetheart.”

Trixie’s heart skips a beat, and her breath catches at the pet name. “Trixie,” she stammers out waiting a second too long to reply.

The girl smiles, “that’s cute. I’m Katya.” She extends a hand for Trixie to shake, who takes it and shakes slightly too firmly.

 _Katya_. The name sounds oddly familiar, almost like a dream, if she thinks too hard about it, she knows it’ll slip away from her, like sand between fingers.

“Thanks,” Trixie says, “for, uh, helping me out, I guess.”

Katya shrugs, “don’t mention it, Tracy, can’t be letting new girls get lost, especially when they’re as pretty as you. I mean, what sort of student do you peg me for?”

Trixie’s whole face goes red, and her heart leaps up into her throat. Katya thinks she’s pretty. 

_Katya. Thinks. She’s. Pretty._

“You know how to open the lockers right? I’m sure they’ve got those in Milwaukee,” Katya comes close to her, and Trixie can smell whatever soap she uses. 

Before she can affirm that yes, she does know how a locker works, _thank you very much_ , Katya is taking the paper from her hand, and starting to turn the lock to the first number. She opens it quickly, stepping back with her hands on her narrow hips, paper still in her fist. 

“Well, thank you Katya,” Katya says in an overexaggerated imitation of a Wisconsin accent, “I’m not sure what my country bumpkin ass would’ve done without ya!”

Trixie slaps her arm in indignation, “I do _not_ sound like that-- you’re rotted!”

Katya laughs loudly, dipping her head back so Trixie can see each individual pearly tooth. The long column of her neck is exposed, a couple of moles are dotted on the tan skin, and Trixie wants to reach out and touch them like she’s playing a child’s game of dot-to-dot.

Trixie blinks, slightly taken aback by herself for a second. She wrinkles her nose, and shakes her head. She slips her bag off her shoulder, reading her schedule that she had shoved hastily in there. Katya peers over her shoulder, reading the crumpled paper alongside her, their shoulders bumping a little.

“I’m in your French class.” Katya taps her thin finger at one of her classes. “Look, here, right before lunch.” She smiles at Trixie. A bell rings down the hall, Katya rolls her light eyes, and begins to walk off, turning around to call over a shoulder, “I guess I’ll see you then, Trixabelle.”

Trixie thinks she might die.

☆☆☆☆☆

" _Parlez-vous Français_ , Trixie?” 

“Uhm…” Trixie hesitates. The teacher that has stood her in front of the class looks scary, a thin eyebrow arched high. Someone in the back giggles. “ _Oui?_ ”

The teacher smiles and launches into rapid fire French. Trixie’s eyes widen a little, managing to catch nothing she’s saying. Some of the girls in the class laugh, Katya joining in with a trio close to the back, her nose scrunching. 

“ _Oui?_ ” The teacher prompts, looking to Trixie for confirmation. Katya catches her eye and nods her head vehemently at her, and turns back to her conversation with the girls next to her. Trixie smiles and nods, pretending to have understood the question.

The teacher sighs. “Okay Miss. Mattel, I’m sure one of the other girls will be happy to help you in this class,” Trixie’s cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. “Katya, would you mind?”

Katya’s head cocks up when she hears her name, “sure!” She grins at Trixie, patting an empty seat to her left. “Come sit.”

Trixie puts her hands on her hips, as she walks over, “I may be a bitch, but I’m not a dog, mama.” Katya screeches with laughter, flailing her arms in the air. Trixie laughs too, moving to sit next to her.

“Girls,” the teacher calls, “get on with your work, stop disrupting!”

Katya raises her eyebrows at Trixie, motioning for her to come closer so she can explain the work written on the blackboard. Their elbows touch, and Trixie’s palms sweat. “You can share my textbook, Trixabella.” Katya says, shifting her desk closer so they’re pushed together, the book open between them.

Trixie giggles a little at the nickname, moving her chair a little so Katya’s calf brushes hers. A tiny thrill goes down her spine. 

Katya, as it turns out, is very good at French. She wraps her mouth around the words, mumbling them to herself as she reads the textbook. She sounds elegant and decidedly _not_ like Trixie, who sounds like she has a mouth full of tacks when she tries to pronounce even the words Katya promises her are easy.

“No, you need to exaggerate more,” Katya directs, “ _heureuse._ ” She says it like it’s second nature, red lips wrapping around the sounds without a hitch.

“ _Her-es._ ” Trixie tries and Katya laughs, “not right?”

“Not even close. _Uh-roez,_ mama.” Trixie tries again, “yeah, okay, that’s closer!”

Trixie sighs, “how are you so good at this? Like, _what_ deal did you make with the devil?”

Katya winks with a grin on her face. “He gets my firstborn, I get French!” Trixie laughs, Katya joining in loudly. “My parents are Russian, I’m good with European languages.”

“You’re _Russian_ ?” Trixie asks. Her step-father is aggressively anti-Russian, constantly angry about those _damn commies, Beatrice._

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova,” Katya says, speaking in a low Russian accent, “that is my name, _da?_ ”

“I-” Trixie starts, “that’s… that’s pretty cool, Yekaterina.” She says her name much slower than Katya did, sounding remarkably midwestern.

Katya shrugs, turning back to the textbook. “Eh, it is what it is.” She drops her Russian accent, “it’s a lot better than it was a couple of years ago.”

Trixie nods, suddenly filled with a desire to protect this strange Russian girl beside her. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been hard. I mean, I’m sure you’re not a commie, or whatever,” she speaks too quickly, almost tripping over her own words.

Katya cocks an eyebrow at her, and her face splits into a grin, “ I could _literally_ be a Russian spy, mama, you got an awful lot of faith in me.”

“Oh _puh-lease_ ! You? A Russian spy? Eisenhower would be on your ass like white on rice, like it would literally be like,” Trixe snaps her fingers, “ _see ya Katya!_ ”

Katya squawks out a laugh, “Eisenhower _wishes_ he could have this ass, you gila monster!”

Trixie laughs so loudly that the teacher glares at them again. If anyone else had called her that, Trixie knows she would be thrown-off, but with Katya it feels natural, almost second nature.

_And there’s that feeling that they’ve met before again._

☆☆☆☆☆

“You’ll sit with us at lunch, right?” Katya says as she opens her locker. “C’mon, we sit outside-- it’s basically our rite of passage as seniors-- but it’s like, extra nice this time of year!” She loops an arm through Trixie’s before waiting for an answer.

“Who’s us?” Trixie asks cautiously, grabbing her lunch from her locker and gently shutting it. 

“Me, Ginger, um, Adore, sometimes Violet and Pearl,” she counts them on her fingers, “it sort of varies day-to-day.” She’s already walking down the hall, pulling Trixie alongside her.

Katya’s right, it is nice outside, and Trixie isn’t remotely surprised that’s where the best seats are, right on the grass-- Boston is green and sunny, the grass beneath her shoes is plush and springy.

A small group of girls are sitting like they’re having a picnic, chatting amongst each other, sharing food and laughing. Katya clocks them and unlinks her arm to wave like a maniac, her whole face lighting up. One of them nudges another, rolling their eyes but smiling at her.

Katya bounds over, _like an overexcited puppy_ , Trixie muses. She immediately jumps into their conversation, pressing her legs against another girl’s back. Trixie walks over too and Katya smiles and shoves her arm around her shoulders.

“This is Trixie, guys,” she introduces. The girl sitting with her back to Katya turns around, holding up her hand in a small wave to Trixie. Her orange hair is shoulder length and straight, a white headband holding it back from her round face.

“That’s a cute name!” One of the girls exclaims. She’s stupidly pretty, Trixie realises-- thick eyebrows and bright red lips, eyes covered in blue eyeshadow, which Trixie is sure isn’t dress code. “Hi! I’m Adore!”

Trixie smiles back, feeling slightly intimidated.

“That’s Violet,” Katya points to a thin girl with her head in another’s lap. “And that--” she points to the other “-- is Pearl.” Neither look up, clearly deeply engrossed in their conversation.

“Come sit!” Adore gestures next to her, laughing when Katya pushes Trixie out of the way playfully to beat her to the spot. She immediately leans on Adore’s shoulder, stretching her legs in front of her. Her calves are tan and toned, a couple patches of blonde hair have been missed by her razor.

The girls around her talk to each other, but Trixie doesn’t feel a need to join in. At some point, Katya transfers her weight off of Adore and onto Trixie, who relishes the warmth and weight of her head resting between her shoulder and chest. 

The sun is bright and warm against Trixie’s skin, and welcome amongst the slight chill in the air, the promise of autumn thick and impending. She feels content, grateful to these girls who have taken her in without hesitating, open arms and big smiles. 

Katya chats with Ginger and Adore, asking Trixie the odd question about whatever they’re talking about, but Trixie is happy just listening to the lull of her voice, almost like the sound of a stream in her mind and oddly comforting. She eats the sandwich her mother packed for her, letting Katya feed her a couple of orange slices too.

“What d’you think about coming with us after school, Trix?” Katya asks. Trixie is sure she’s imagining the hopeful edge to her voice, but lets herself pretend for a moment.

“Hmm? To where?”

“There’s a diner like a mile away.” Adore chimes in, “we’re all going with a couple of boys from the boys’ school, if you wanna come.”

Trixie hesitates for a second, considering how her mother would feel about her going somewhere with a group of girls she’s only just met to meet a random group of boys. _Absolutely not_ , her mother’s voice rings in her mind, so she grins and accepts. Katya whoops and Adore laughs loudly.

☆☆☆☆☆

“I’m not sure we’re all gonna fit in.” Trixie says, standing outside Violet’s (slightly dented and scraped) car. 

“Sure we will!” Katya says brightly. She’s standing next to Trixie, as they all wait for Violet to procure her keys out of her bag. “If Adore sits in the middle and then you and Ginger squish in…” she hesitates for a second. “It’s fine I can sit on someone’s lap.”

Ginger rolls her eyes, and shifts her weight so she’s standing with her hips angled towards them. “You’re not sitting on mine Zamo, not with that boney ass of yours-- I’m a delicate flower!”

Adore snorts a laugh, “sure, bitch.”

“Gottem!” Violet yells, thrusting the keys up into the air. Pearl slowly claps and Trixie isn’t entirely sure if she’s being sarcastic or not. She opens the door and climbs into the driver’s seat, Pearl joining her in the front.

“Okay, Ginger you slide in first,” Katya directs, opening the side door. Ginger jokingly rolls her eyes again, but obliges. “Okay, and Adore you’re in the middle, and I’ll sit on Tracy’s lap. That’s okay, right?” She looks up at Trixie, large grey eyes unblinking.

Trixie’s heart thuds in her chest, “sure,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. Katya grins and grabs her hand, swinging it back and forth while Adore gets in.

When Trixie sits, her legs are pressed flush against Adore’s slightly prickly ones. Katya gets in quickly, and Ginger is absolutely right about her ass being boney. Not that Trixie is complaining or anything.

Katya grabs her forearms from where they awkwardly rest on the small space of empty seat, wrapping them around her tiny waist, keeping her secure as Violet begins to pull out of the school’s parking lot. Trixie’s palms are clammy.

She is suddenly acutely aware of everytime Katya moves as Violet drives, heart hammering in her chest. She feels… _different_ around Katya. Like how her friends would say they felt around boys they wanted to date, but that’s _crazy_ . Trixie doesn’t want to _date_ Katya-- she doesn’t like girls. She doesn’t. _She doesn’t!_ But she can’t deny how well they seem to click, getting on as if they’ve known each other forever.

“You okay there, Tracy?” Katya says, pressing herself further into Trixie.

“Hmm?” Trixie murmurs, snapping out of her momentary daze. “Yeah, sure, just, y’know… thinking.”

“I can smell the smoke coming out of your ears-- surely can’t be good for you?”

Trixie slaps Katya’s arm, “shut up you troll!”

“Zamo,” Pearl turns around in her seat to look at her. She speaks slowly, dragging out her words like she’s half asleep. “Is Michael coming?”

“Mm, yeah, I think so.” Katya calls back.

“Who’s Michael?”

“Kat’s boyfriend,” Ginger replies. Adore makes a gagging noise next to her, which Katya rolls her eyes at, hitting her thigh.

Trixie’s heart falls into her black shoes. _Boyfriend_. Of course Katya has a boyfriend. She’s sweet and beautiful and smart, not to mention charming and funny. Trixie catches her reflection in the window briefly, she looks like someone’s just punched her in the stomach. 

It shouldn’t matter to her-- Katya should get to date whoever she wants! And besides, she’s never even met Micheal. If Katya likes him, Trixie’s sure he’s fine.

☆☆☆☆☆

Michael manages to be anything _but_ nice. He’s cute, she’ll give him that, but that’s about it. He’s loud and rude, wrapping an arm around Katya’s waist as soon as she gets over to him. He orders for her too, a strawberry milkshake, even though she insists she doesn’t want it, and won’t be able to finish it. 

He snaps for the waitress’ attention-- like she’s a little dog, Trixie thinks-- flirting with her while she takes their orders. Katya doesn’t seem to notice, and if she does, she doesn’t seem to care all that much.

They’re sitting in a booth, some of Michael’s friends are there too, chatting with Adore and Violet. One of them tries to talk to Trixie too, and she knows she should try and be nice to him, but it’s so _hard_. He talks to her chest rather than her face, and doesn’t bother listening to Trixie’s answers to his questions. He tires of her quickly when he realises she isn’t interested, instead moving to talk to Adore.

Trixie stirs her milkshake with her straw. It’s vanilla, syrupy sweet and sickly, clogging itself in her throat. She lets it melt, stirring the sprinkles on top around and around until the drink is starting to look a little more grey and gloopy than white.

“Michael,” Katya says from across the table, laughing as the hand holding her waist moves a little lower. “Michael!” She says again, this time a little more forcefully. His hand dips lower, under the table so Trixie can’t see it anymore.

“What babe?” He asks, feigning innocence, grinning like it’s a joke. Katya isn’t smiling anymore, Trixie notices, and she’s starting to look slightly anxious.

“C’mon, stop, we’re in public,” she says softly, trying to push his arm up from where it’s moved to.

“Just relax, Kat!” He laughs loudly. Katya doesn’t laugh back.

“Mike, seriously, stop.” At the same time she speaks, one of the boys cracks a joke loudly, and the whole table, previously enamoured in their own conversations, laughs. Michael laughs especially loudly, dipping back his head. His arm moves lower.

“Michael, I’m serious, stop!” Katya hisses, trying to move herself away from him. He holds her closer, rolling his eyes.

“Dude,” Trixie says, staring directly at him, “she fucking said stop.” She slides out of the booth, “leave her alone, she’s not into it.”

Michael scoffs, “shut up, what are you? Some kinda dyke?” Trixie’s face burns red as Michael laughs. 

Katya squirms her way out of his grip and quickly maneuvers her way out of the booth. “Let’s go, Trix.” She says quietly, grabbing onto her arm with an iron-tight grip, and pulling her out of the diner. 

She doesn’t loosen her grip once they’re outside, tugging Trixie along into an alleyway next to the building. Katya looks on the verge of tears, digging around in one of the pockets in her jacket to procure a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. Silently, she lights one, taking a drag but being sure to blow the smoke away from Trixie’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie offers cautiously. “I didn’t mean to get in the middle of your fight, I just didn’t want you to--”

“--No, don’t apologise, it’s okay.” She lets the smoke curl around her lips as she talks, “he’s a dick.”

Trixie hesitates before answering, phrasing and re-phrasing the words in her head before she speaks them. “Why are you with him?”

“I-” Katya looks at her, and sighs, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette on the brick wall behind them. “I’m not sure,” she says finally. 

They stand together in silence, both unable to find the right words to fill the quiet. In the background, cars drive by, the sounds of traffic muffled by the alleyway.

“Thank you.” Katya says finally, “for standing up for me.” She wraps her arms around Trixie’s neck, standing on her tiptoes to reach. Trixie cautiously hugs her back, heart thumping quickly in her chest. “You’re my hero.” Katya whispers in her ear, giggling.

She pulls back to kiss Trixie on the cheek, but misses by an inch, kissing her on the jaw. 

Trixie’s heart _whiz-bangs_ in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please please leave a comment (i LIVE for that shit) and come chat to me on tumblr @ mattelography ! <3


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